


Won't You Come & Visit Me Again?

by fade_into_the_dusk_with_me



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: & Stuff, 10 and donna being sad little siblings, :), Forgive Me, Friendship, Funerals, Gen, Time Travel, any takes on grief & whatever are my own so yknow, i wrote this in a delayed frenzy. got it as a prompt, im sorryyyyy, sefprojectionnn, then didnt answer for too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 22:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fade_into_the_dusk_with_me/pseuds/fade_into_the_dusk_with_me
Summary: Donna visits her Dad's funeral. A second time.wow thats such a rubbish summary 🙃@dittyel, i thought making this a gift to you was the least i could do, since you made that wonderful moodboard all those months ago & sent me a bunch of prompts - including, but not limited to, this one. 💕🥰 you were a real encouragement to me, so thank you a lot.(also. idk about that title. but, knowing me, it'll stick)
Relationships: (theyre siblings. i dont make the rules sorry.), Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble
Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215956
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Won't You Come & Visit Me Again?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dittyel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dittyel/gifts).



> this took me way too long to get round to writing.  
> (oh & it was written for the tumblr dialogue prompt 108. 'At what point did you think that was a good idea?', which i changed just a *teensy* bit, by replacing 'that' with 'this' just. just cos. ok?  
> anyway. thank you so much for clicking on this, especially after that truly lazy summary i chucked out there. i really tried on this. so pls be relatively nice, ok? 🥰💕 it's coming up to 3am rn & i always post late at night cos it's funnnn, but, like. I started this yesterday, so pls bear those two things in mind. Right. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this. 🙃❤ (thanks again x)

The heat was ungodly. She wished it’d stop clinging to her skin like that. 

Dear lord, it was _not_ the day to be wearing black.

They stood off to the back of the graveyard. The _very_ back - it wasn’t a large graveyard.

The Doctor had had the courtesy to procure a subdued bouquet from … somewhere. She had chuckled to herself at the mental image of him nipping into his own little florists, tucked away somewhere in the insane labyrinth that was the TARDIS.

And it had snatched a little of the air from her chest when she’d realised she didn’t entirely recognise the flowers. In fact, those deep red ones over there seemed to be … moving?

 _Weeping,_ he would’ve told her, if she’d asked.

She didn’t feel like asking.

She didn’t feel like asking him where he got them, either.

It was a nice thought, though - they stood in a scattering of stone, empty vessels of people clustered round the small church - & he bent to lay a little piece of another world on a stranger’s grave.

She shivered.

Hadn’t it been hot?

She had raised & lowered her head so often now that strands of red hair were drifting up - _static_ \- & getting in her mouth. She couldn’t seem to close it.

The gravestone in front of them was an old one, and not the one they came to see - the edges were rounded, soft with moss. She doubted the name was even legible. She wasn’t trying to read it.

The funeral had gathered closer than them to the foot of the dull building - like one grey, heaving unit, the handkerchiefs were raised and dabbed against the faces, shining specks of white up against the slouching black. The hearse stood to half-hearted attention just over the precarious stone wall - like a great ugly slug, she thought. And shining with the sun on its back like how she remembered it.

That heat had stuck to her memory, too - like it had to her throbbing forehead. She remembered that funny faint feeling - she remembered that no one had offered her water. She could’ve got it herself, of course, but she had opted to sit around, feeling bitter that no one had _offered._ How odd to watch it all like this.

She watched herself from across the lumpy patch of parched grass. Since when had she been that skinny? She certainly didn’t remember that.

Ah yes, the long sleeves - that was the summer she had spent trying her best not to show much of her shoulders, convinced it was the ugliest thing. She remembers the hunched shoulders against the church pew, because she had felt much too _seen_ & had sat there sweltering, wishing she could sweat herself away. Completely. And utterly.

And she remembered the taste of the bitter guilt on her tongue - guilt, at how _could_ she be so petty, at a time like this. _How could she?_

It had mingled - insecurity, with guilt, with a slightly less bitter shade of shame - a more childish one; with a raging urge to scratch at every itch from the heavy fabric; & it had twisted her throat till it felt clogged with tears - _everything,_ under the sun, her mother’s wide-brimmed hat doing nothing to help the squinting glare seared on her face.

The figure across from them conveyed none of this. She stood with her arms bolted across her chest, the sullen curve of her spine leaving her eyes glued to the ground. 

And Donna felt a lump in her throat.

‘Doctor - that - that’s _me._ Like, really - properly.’

 _For once,_ she thought, he was quiet.

There was a pause, partly filled with the rumble of traffic behind them.  
  


He angled himself a little away from the crowd, & looked her in her vacant eyes -

‘If it’s too much, just say. Donna - Donna, do you hear me? We can go whenever. Ok?’

She nodded, expression glassy.

‘No. I - I’m alright, I just-’ she let out a strange breath that could’ve been a short laugh ‘I just wasn’t expectin’ it to be like this. It’s odd to see it outside of … my thoughts - my head, y’know?’

He hummed slightly, in what Donna thought could be deciphered as either polite confusion, or complete understanding.

He was fiddling with his sonic - habit, she knew, catching it hovering in her periphery - if he wasn’t scanning anything, she was _relatively_ certain it was harmless, not a cause for concern. Of course, with the Doctor, one could never be sure.

But there weren’t any words in her lungs & she was certain her breath was being suspended over the huddle of unnecessary black umbrellas - hanging in the boiling air like a limp puppet.

And she let her irritation slink away to the corner of her mind.

They stood there longer than she had planned on. Funny how time could just . . . _slip_ like that. The TARDIS was a collectors box - microscopic moments bottled away like jars of sand, & accessible at the flip of a switch - at the rattle of another less-than-smooth landing. She found herself captivated by the warmth of this moment, cradled in her palms. Soft & finite. That’s what gave it its warmth, she supposed - she’d had it slip past her before. And now she could cradle it. Now, he could hand her any moment she’d ever felt fall away on the breeze, & she could watch, as it spilled through her fingers, again . . . and again, and _again._

The figure of herself had been one of the last to leave the graveside - but only marginally. She was sure the discomfort radiated off her, even independent of the context her memories gave her - she was sure the Doctor could feel it.

There was the rumble of the last car & the slightest exhale of shaky breath.

Somehow she felt even more uncomfortable in the absence of the clustered acquaintances - they gave her somewhere else to look, at least.

Her father’s headstone was an ugly one. She’d always thought so. It was crudely cut, & seemed much too out of place in the near-shade of the church - upright with the rigid posture of someone who doesn’t belong, & is all too aware of it.

Part of her wants to curl up against the stone slab. And stay there, until the horrendous Sun sets. But it feels too intimate. To have his name carved out the other side of her back feels much too . . . exposed. She feels exposed enough already.

There’s only so much a person can process in a day.

And this had been, what, two hours?

Instead, she drinks in the cool grey stone of the interior walls against her back. The church was their nearest one - other than that, they had had very little connection with it. Actually, maybe her grandparents got married here. They had never been a family that moved around a whole lot - you settled where you stuck, & for the past 4 generations, & to the best of Donna’s knowledge, for the Noble family that had been the same 3 Chiswick streets.

The Doctor had left her alone for a little while, while he poked & prodded at something or something else in the TARDIS console, or perhaps fiddled with this wiring, messed with that switch - whatever it was this time that she had thoroughly no interest in.

The shabby soles of those same stupid converse pumps padded over the stone, with the vaguely puppy-esque spring of a 5 year old. She’d never seen them from down here - didn’t he _ever_ change shoes? They were filthy, & faded.

She tried clearing her throat a little, partly to get right of that niggling sob that seemed to be set on sitting there, & partly to remedy his disorientation, scanning the empty pews for her.

He barely blinked at the sight of her, with her back to the inside of a peaked doorway, & eyes he thankfully didn’t mention were looking a little red.

He slouched down next to her with ease, bracing his arms over his knees, screwdriver connecting agitated hands.

‘Funny, I had never pictured you in a goth phase. And now, I can’t _stop_ picturing it.’

He mock-shuddered, looking at her - like Wilf would, whenever she sulked - the look of someone very much trying to cheer you up.

She sniffed, huffed half a laugh, gave his shoulder the lightest of nudges.

‘Yeah, well, be thankful I never dyed my hair.’

She laughed a little. Again. _Ugh,_ she _kept_ doing that.

It rose up in her chest, feeling an awful lot like panic. And then it burst out like that - it made her want to cry. No, it didn’t - she already wanted to cry.

There’s silence. She stares at the chipped brick arching over their heads, & tries not to stumble on eye contact, like an unfortunate tripwire - _careful: you touch it, you break down._

‘Do you want to go?’

To her right, he rakes a hand through his hair. Then, again:

‘Do you want to leave?’

That surprises her, a little.

‘I- I don’t know. . .’

‘Donna, you’re _clearly_ not fine with this - _do you want to leave?’_

‘Doctor-’

‘Because it’s my job, you know, while we’re here - while we’re anywhere - to make sure I ask you, to make sure-’

‘I _said_ \- I don’t _know_ \- I. Yeah - _no.’_

Their voices seem to accelerate after that, spiralling upwards, reaching heights to rival the cavernous ceiling.

‘Yeah- I can’t be here. _Can I?’_ this, more to herself than before - than to him.

Spiralling, spiralling.

They’re irate & repetitive & not slowing down.

She thinks they fall back on the same question 5 times, but she’s guessing:

_‘Do you want to leave?’_

At some point, they reach bitterness.

He huffs a half-laugh, like it’s something obvious -

‘At what point did you think this was a good idea?’

_Like she’s stupid._

She’s taken aback.

‘It’s _your_ ruddy TARDIS - I figured you’d know better, if it was gonna cause problems - you’re always _acting_ like you do, anyway’

‘Oh no - _that’s_ not fair - you _asked_ to come here. Oh, i should’ve _known_ \- I should’ve _known_ this was a bad idea - you people never deal with this sort of thing well’

She’s irritated - _blatantly_ \- & huffs indignation.

‘Why, _exactly,_ do you think I suggested this? This isn't some stupid little holiday - I didn’t waltz up to the TARDIS thinkin’ to myself _‘oh, I know what’d make a fun little **trip'** _ _’_

He drops his eyes. Regret tethers a weight to the air between them.

‘I know. Donna, I -’

‘No. You’ll hear me out. Now I don’t know how funerals & all that worked on Gallifrey, Mr Time Lord, but I know Earth - no, not even that - I know me. I know me, & I know how I was at that funeral. My dad _died,_ & all I- I locked him away & left him to the side & never- I never-’

She’s shaking, tears painting her eyes over like a sheen of glass. And tumbling over the edge.

‘I never-’

She wipes at her nose.

Sniffs.

‘He deserves better than that. I thought I could _give_ him more than that - even if I could just take the chance… I could-’

The church door aches & groans from its hinges. They both stop breathing.

Like children, they shift as far out of sight as they can - ducking down, pressing against the varnished door to the right.

‘Hello?’

The voice is incredibly familiar, & the absurdity of it all has Donna turning to stare at the Doctor, wide-eyed, mouth open.

‘Anybody there?’

The girl had paused, hovering, in the back of the empty church. She brushed her red hair from her face.

‘I just forgot my - um, I left my jacket’

Her steps are punctuated with pauses - uncertainty - _didn’t she hear voices?_ And then the door aches closed again, & she’s gone.

They both loosen their grips on their tense silence (it had begun to burn friction burns into their hands).

And _blessedly,_ it falls away.

He softens.

‘Everyone has their way of grieving. Donna, listen to me. You don’t owe your Dad your discomfort.’

She stops there.

‘He wouldn’t want that, Donna - you _know_ he wouldn’t.’

Those words hadn’t painted themselves in that order before. And she sort of wishes they hadn’t. Because they wind her. And she’s going to cry.

She is, she is-

He stands, & pulls her up almost before she can register it. The shock of it jolts her, & she stumbles to speak-

‘She- didn’t see us, did she?’

It feels bizarre & so out of a sci-fi novel that she huffs another laugh -

‘I mean - _I_ didn’t see us, Right?’

He cranes his neck, to see the glistening black car pull away again through the arched fragments of windows.

‘No, I don’t think so - well, she’s - _you’ve_ \- gone now, anyway’

‘I think I remember that, y’know - I remember I came back & I thought some kids were messing around with the altar or something, cos I could’ve sworn I heard voices.’

She’s grinning now. It feels like she’s thawing.

Thank God for the heat.

It hits her again when they leave the church.

It annoys her how unbothered he is. She glares at him when he says

‘Wait, are you hot?’

Her sweat-plastered forehead says it all.

He chuckles a little, in between saying ‘No, I’m serious - how could _I_ know? Weird body, remember? Alien man.’ and pondering over whether they have any ice cream left onboard.

She presses a gentle kiss to her palm & lets it brush the glossed stone, patting it warmly. Sniffing, again.

He flicks his glasses up onto his nose & squints up at the sky.

‘Then again, I haven’t bought any new stuff lately. You might have to settle for a glass of water, I’m afraid.’

She smiles, jostling softly with her right shoulder.

‘I guess it’ll have to do, spaceman.’

She brandishes an index finger at him.

‘Next time, though, I want my emotionally exhausting experiences _only_ if they come with ice cream afterwards, ‘kay?’

He chuckles.

The creak of the TARDIS door welcomes them back home.

**Author's Note:**

> pls pls let me know what you think. i'll love you for it. honestly i will.  
> anywayyy, thanks a lot for reading - hope it was ok. and im off to go sleep now cos i have lessons in the mornnningggg so. um. yeah.


End file.
